


When the night is dark (I will watch over you)

by gingerpolyglot



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark Emma Swan, Dark Swan Arc, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:46:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6152682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerpolyglot/pseuds/gingerpolyglot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because when Killian has nightmares he calls her name, and she will come (whether she has a choice or not).</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the night is dark (I will watch over you)

**Author's Note:**

> Set in 5A, sometime before 5x08 "Birth." Spoilers for all of 5A.

She does not sleep; she thinks she wouldn't even if she could. She likes the quiet of the night, when the streets of Storybrooke are silent and the only lights are the stars and the streetlights. She can wander through town, breathe the cool air and get out of the house (her house,  _their house_ ) that's now so tainted with secrets and lies (it was their  _f_ u _ture_ ). So when she hears her name in the middle of the night, she goes (she cannot refuse), wondering who is desperate enough to call on her now. 

She still hasn't gotten used to being Summoned. Someone invokes her name and she hears it echo around her head, feels a pull in her gut that she can't ignore (a tug like a hook behind her navel, she thinks, and remembers sitting up late reading Harry Potter with Henry, testing her magic against JKR's). She disappears in a swirl of smoke, never sure where she'll reappear. It's the uncertainty that she hates the most - not knowing where she'll wind up, who will be waiting for her. It reminds her of black trash bags full of second-hand clothes and stone-faced social services workers and foster home after foster home. The Darkness feasts on the small seed of resentment that flares every time they Summon her (they want her to come home; don't they see? she can't). 

The fading floral wallpaper of Granny's is the first thing she sees when the smoke clears. There's a second for her to process this before she hears her name whispered like a broken prayer, followed by an even more desperate "please, love." She steels herself, hardening her features and turning, opening her mouth to ask what he wants, but the question dies in her throat as she takes him in. He's in bed, covers tangled around his legs. Sweat dots his forehead, and his eyes move rapidly under his lids - his  _closed_ eyelids, she realizes. Her heart clenches painfully in her chest as she understands. He says her name again. It's almost a sob, and she freezes, warring with herself. 

The part of her that is still Emma wants nothing more than to hold him and comfort him, to tell him her plans - that she's not lost to the Darkness, not entirely, not yet. But the part of her that hears the dagger's siren song (he'd laugh at that, say she has no idea what sirens are really like, then launch into some ridiculous story from his years on the Jolly), the part that likes the way the power feels thrumming under her skin, _that_ part keeps her feet rooted to the floor. It's only when a lone tear slips down his cheek, squeezed out of eyes clenched shut against whatever horror she's wreaking in his mind, does she lose (win?) the fight with herself and go to him. 

A tentative hand brushes away the tear, her thumb rubbing his cheek. Instinctively he leans into her hand; in slumber he doesn't mind that her skin is so much cooler than his (she's always so  _cold_ ). She cards her hands through his hair. It's gotten longer, she notes - he was always so well-groomed, it's as if he doesn't care anymore. (She's trying so hard to care anymore.) Her caresses soothe him and he quiets, the nightmare giving way to sweeter dreams or none at all without waking him. 

She stays the night. She sits beside him, one hand in his hair, the other lightly running up and down his arm. She rubs light circles into his stump, trying to heal any soreness with her touch (she scoffs at herself - her touch doesn't heal anymore). Before all this - before two Dark Ones, before Camelot, before she sacrificed her Light for Regina - they'd lie in bed at Granny's or, later, on the Jolly, and massage away each other's aches. She remembers the first time she'd gone over to his room from the station, kneading at the tense muscles in her neck as they ate. He'd pushed away their plates and gestured for her to come sit between his legs. She did so warily, wondering at his intentions, but he'd simply quirked an eyebrow and said, "Don't you trust me, Swan?" She'd huffed a laugh and moved to sit in front of him, not sure what to expect. 

She'd jumped when she felt his hand and the curved part of his hook press into her back, and he'd run his hand down her arm and leaned forward to whisper in her ear: "Let me take care of you, love." She gave no response save a quick intake of breath - she couldn't remember the last time anyone had offered to take care of her, if there was even a last time to remember. She'd forced herself to relax and then really had - she had no idea where a pirate learned to give a massage but damn if he didn't know what he was doing. She'd tentatively offered to return the favor a few days later when she saw him rubbing roughly at his aching wrist. He'd been surprised, but coached her through what helped and what didn't with a soft look in his eyes. Eventually it became habit for them to soothe each other's pains. 

She's lost in reminiscence, the repetitive motions of her hands calming her as much as her pirate (is he truly hers anymore? she certainly doesn't deserve him). The curtains are open just a crack, letting in the glare from the streetlights that eventually gives way to the dawn. She's only pulled back to herself when she feels him stir. He moves his head toward her hand, nuzzling her palm as his eyelids flutter open. Before, she'd have smiled at him and kissed him properly awake. Now she stills, not sure how to react. (She wants to kiss him). (She doesn't kiss him). He blinks, mind still hazy with sleep, and rubs his eyes. He pulls his left arm out of her reach to prop himself up and they stare at each other for a heartbeat. But then he blinks again, confusion drawing lines in his forehead, and the moment is lost. He opens his mouth to say something, but she doesn't give him the chance. She stands; with a swirl of smoke, she disappears. 

Killian raises his hand to his cheek and  _hopes_. 


End file.
